


The Bookshelf

by Cerah528



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerah528/pseuds/Cerah528
Summary: The smell of old pages, warm and dusty, fills the air.





	

The smell of old pages, warm and dusty, fills the air; underneath, a fainter smell of fresh glue and newly printed paper persists. On a plain white shelf, squished together with no extra space, sit books. The books tell tales of a life spent on imaginings, hidden in corners, and thinking of grand schemes that never occur. Some tall, others short, some thin, and others thick, each patiently waiting to be picked up, handled again. Some a little newer, not yet read, fresh-faced and eagerly awaiting their turn to send their reader on marvelous adventures. Others, their pages well loved, soft and feathered. Cracked spines telling tales of long days spent curled up. Hour upon hour spent on adventures, flying with dragons, fighting deep space pirates, and so much more. 

The oldest looking of them with its spine nearly gone, and pages bent, draws attention. It is not the tallest of them, nor is it the thickest, merely average. On the spine, worn with many openings, the printing fading away, are the words, ‘His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik’. Plucked from its resting place, the softness of the cover becomes apparent, the pages smooth and worn with many fingerings. Bright red color splashes across the face of the book; in sharp contrast, a huge black dragon framing a tall ship is centered on the page. Adventure seems to leap from the page, inviting you to get lost in the excitement and wonder it offers.

Hidden in the corner, not quite out of sight stands an old, broken book. Tall and thin with its cover gone, and pages torn, it tells a tale of a long, hard life. Tugged gently out of place, there is not much to see other than a handwritten note gracing one corner. Strings hang loosely around the top and bottom of the spine, giving a sad account of a cover ripped from its bindings, lost to dusty, long forgotten places. It’s not until it is opened that bright colors abound, telling of nursery rhymes and fairy tales, of warm nights spent cuddled with a soft voice reading until sleep could no longer be fought. 

Standing proudly in the middle of the shelf is the thickest of all the books. On its bright green dust jacket, not yet ravaged by fingers and time, is the word ‘Inheritance’, printed regally in gold filigree. Pulled from its resting place, the stiffness of the dustjacket and the firmness of the book beneath hint at a journey not yet begun. A brilliant emerald green figure of a dragon’s head blankets the cover. The dragon stares challengingly from the cover daring anyone to open the book, to take part in the adventures within. 

These books, the old ones and the new ones, tell of my interests, and the desire to escape from reality. Fantastical stories, outlandish adventures, new worlds to explore, they give the impression of a life lived in one’s mind. Wishing for adventure but not quite brave enough to seek it out. Conversations in one’s head with characters that do not exist outside of a book, longing for the unknown. The books tell tales of a life spent on imaginings, hidden in corners, and thinking of grand schemes that never occur.


End file.
